Kade steps out onto the balcony, carrying two mugs of hot tea. He hands me one, his movements slightly stiff, his left arm resting carefully against his side. He is learning to move with his new center of gravity, learning to compensate for the dead weight of his atrophied limb. It is a slow, frustrating process, but he doesn't complain.
He wraps his good arm around my waist, pulling me against his side. We stand in silence, watching the stars.
The quiet room, he projects, his mental voice soft, intimate. Let’s go home.
I nod, closing my eyes. We don't even need to speak the words aloud. Together, we step out of the physical world and into the cedar cabin of our shared mindscape.
The transition is instant. But the cabin is different.
The roof is partially collapsed, scorched by the ps
